


Five Times Kenma Saves Kuroo and One Time Kuroo saves Kenma

by TheMipstaz



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Compliant, Childhood Memories, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mathematics, Minor Injuries, protective kenma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 17:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9559985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMipstaz/pseuds/TheMipstaz
Summary: In which Kenma knows his derivatives, a promise isn't kept, Kuroo trusts Kenma's judgement, Kenma gives up watching TV, Kuroo says itadakimasu, and everything begins with a slamming door.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I have officially descended into the void and started writing for this fandom. It's great. I'm currently still trying to get a feel for these characters, so any OOC behavior can be attributed to that. Any feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks! 
> 
> As always you can find my teen wolf blog [here](http://nevergooutofstiles.tumblr.com) and my haikyuu side blog [here.](http://ftmnoya.tumblr.com)

**1.**

Everyone is always surprised when they find out Kenma is good at math. Lev thought it was a joke and laughed so hard he fell over. Yaku still suspects Kuroo and Kenma are trying to pull one over on him for two years straight. 

Kenma doesn’t care enough about the others’ opinions to challenge their skepticism. 

Kuroo just wants to finish his calculus homework as soon as humanly possible. 

“So,” Kuroo chews on the end of his pencil, brows furrowed in deep concentration, “the limit of the function as x approaches five is…” His pencil scratches lightly at the paper. 

Kenma glances over from his phone. “Not that. Zero over zero is an indeterminate answer. You have to L’Hospital it.” He returns to tapping away at his screen. 

Kuroo’s mouth twitches downward. Disgruntled, he pulls out his notebook to search for his notes on L’Hospital’s Rule. Flipping through, he glances at the clock. They only have half an hour before practice. “This is impossible,” he groans. 

“And yet,” Kenma arches one brow, “I somehow already finished.” 

“Not all of us can be math whizzes,” Kuroo sniffs as he tries to remember how to derive. 

Kenma shrugs one shoulder. “Numbers… they make sense. Words are… harder.” 

Kuroo watches his boyfriend for a moment, his deft fingers and bright eyes. He honestly doesn’t understand when people are shocked about Kenma’s arithmetic ability. Kenma has never been particularly eloquent or sensitive when it came to social interactions of any kind. His voice is too soft. His eyes are so heavy they always fall to the ground. He shies away from contact. It’s only natural that Kenma excels in something else, something opposite. 

Integrals don’t demand Kenma to make eye contact. Variables don’t mock his introverted personality. Graphs don’t make him so anxious he has to devote all his energy to staying under the radar. 

Numbers are simple, which Kenma enjoys. There’s only one right answer, not a dozen he has to sift through to find the most socially acceptable. Formulas and theories don’t capriciously change like people and their attitudes do. Kenma finds comfort in stability, and what’s more stable than ancient Greek numbers? 

“Kuro,” Kenma peers over once again at Kuroo’s problem, “the derivative of 3x 4/5 is twelve over five times x -1/4 . Remember the power rule from last week.” He rests his head on Kuroo’s shoulder while he resumes his game. 

Kuroo can’t help a fond smile. “Right, okay.” He presses a quick kiss to Kenma’s crown and goes to erase his answer. He doesn’t finish everything before their evening practice, but Kenma makes sure the derivatives don’t kick his ass too badly.

* * *

 

**2.**

It happens in a flash. One second Kuroo is gracefully leaping up to slam down Kenma’s toss over the net, all feline finesse and oozing confidence; the next, he’s on the ground, face contorted with pain. Kenma doesn’t think twice. He’s instantly at Kuroo’s side, the half-finished volley completely forgotten. 

It doesn’t matter that the opposing team keeps playing because the referees haven’t halted the game yet. It doesn’t matter that there’s no way Nekoma can return the quick with two out of six players out of commission. Volleyball doesn’t matter without Kuroo. 

Kenma hovers anxiously, wide eyes flicking from Kuroo’s face to where he’s clutching his ankle. “Is it…?” 

“Probably just a sprain,” Kuroo assures him with a grimace. “Hurts like a motherfucker though. Help me up?” 

Kenma obediently attempts to haul Kuroo lanky frame up, but only succeeds after Yamamoto rushes over to help. Kenma doesn’t let go of Kuroo’s hand, even though it’s a little sweaty and Kenma hates being sweaty. The others have gathered around as well, faces concerned. 

Then Coach Naoi is there, shoving through the throng of boys with an ice pack and a barrage of questions.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Kuroo waves him off. “Just give me, like, 10 minutes.” He begins to hobble over to the bench, supported by Kenma and Yamamoto. Kenma grips Kuroo’s waist so tightly his knuckles turn white. At the bench, Coach Naoi slides under Kuroo’s arm to take over his weight and help him to the infirmary. 

The whistle blows again. Yamamoto slaps Kuroo encouragingly on the back and returns to the court. But Kenma hesitates in front of Kuroo. His head is bowed, but he looks up at Kuroo through his lashes for a moment. Then he casts a nervous glance towards Coach Naoi and drops his gaze. 

Catching on, Kuroo asks, “Coach Naoi, could you give us a private second please?” 

Naoi nods. “Of course. I’ll ask for a timeout, but hurry. The game can’t start without Kenma.” 

When he leaves, Kuroo leans against the wall and waits patiently for Kenma to gather his thoughts. His ankle throbs, but it can wait. 

“I… I don’t want to play without you.” 

Kuroo chuckles and takes one of Kenma’s hands. “I know, Kenma. But I’ll be right back. I just need to get this taped up.” He nods at his injury. “You won’t even miss me.” 

Kenma frowns. “But…” 

“But will you do this for me?” Kuroo leans down to ghost his lips across Kenma’s forehead. “I know you don’t particularly care if we win or lose, but I do. Will you continue to play and win for me? The team needs you.  _I_ need you.” Kenma makes a face at their joined hands, but Kuroo knows he’s won. “Thank you, kitten.” 

After they take two straight sets to win the match, Kenma makes sure Kuroo knows how annoyed he is that Kuroo never made it back on the floor. He stubbornly taps away at his phone and refuses to hold Kuroo’s hand on the bus ride home no matter how much Kuroo playfully jostles him. The others are in high spirits after the win, but Kuroo bows out of their celebratory chats and enthusiastic reenactments of the best plays to sit next to Kenma in the back. Kenma spends half the ride obstinately curled away from Kuroo to text Hinata. But by the time they make it home, Kenma has nestled himself snugly under Kuroo’s arm.

* * *

**3.**

By their third year of junior high, Kenma is used to Kuroo’s many girlfriends. He’s resigned them to a side effect of having a popular best friend. Obnoxious, but unable to be helped. Like Kuroo’s hair. 

The girls started appearing in their first year, but Kenma has never particularly cared. He sometimes says hello if they even spare him a glance and Kuroo glares at him hard enough. But other than that, he’s tried to keep out of that part of Kuroo’s life as much as possible. None of them ever last longer than a month anyways. Kenma has just never seen the point of expending the energy to interact with someone who would exist so briefly in his and Kuroo’s lives. 

Until now. 

This girl sends shivers down Kenma’s spine. He doesn’t know whether it’s the way her laughing eyes go dark the instant Kuroo looks away or the way she moves like a predator on the prowl. Even the deep shade of red painted on her fingernails rubs him the wrong way. In all his years of studying those around him, Kenma has never seen a girl like this. 

“You…” Kenma bites his lip as he debates the best way to phrase it. He’s spent the whole day weighing the pros and cons of bringing up Kuroo’s poor choice in girl. On one hand, his life philosophy of “fitting in with everyone else” doesn’t include condemning his friend’s relationship and all the drama that would inevitably ensue. On the other hand, no one has ever alarmed Kenma as much as this girl. 

Kuroo slowly sits up from where he’d been idly tossing a volleyball up in the air. 

“You should stop seeing… that girl,” Kenma finally says after giving up trying to remember her name. “I don’t have a good feeling about her.” 

Kuroo nods thoughtfully, eyes searching Kenma’s face. “Okay,” he shrugs. Then he lays back down and tosses the ball up again. 

Kenma frowns even deeper. Every time he thinks he’s gotten Kuroo pegged, Kuroo has to go and shit on all of Kenma’s meticulous analysis. These past years have taught Kenma that Kuroo is headstrong and unapologetic and even occasionally erring on the wrong side of arrogant. He’s the guy everyone likes, but still complains good-naturedly about. 

Or, in Yaku’s case, gripes endlessly about. 

Kenma had braced himself for the cross twist of Kuroo’s mouth that he’s seen directed at so many others. He had gritted his teeth in preparation to be brushed off like a pesky fly. 

But when Kenma scrutinizes Kuroo’s unguarded face, he doesn’t see that outer veneer. Underneath the snide, prideful exterior, Kenma sees the softness Kuroo has always shown in private—countless nights laying in Kuroo’s bed, the comfortable silences they share, the tingle that runs down Kenma’s spine when their fingers brush. This side of Kuroo has hardly seen the light of day. Kenma would like to keep it that way, he realizes. 

“Okay,” Kenma echoes quietly. His stomach feels pleasantly warm.

* * *

**4.**

“Ugh, damn it!” Kuroo swears as he swipes and misses the ball. Again. It falls to the ground and bounces dejectedly away. 

Kenma gives Kuroo a bored look. “I’m not getting that.” 

“Yeah,” snorts Kuroo. “I think I figured that out the last 30 times when you also refused to get it.” 

Kenma blinks. “Can we go in yet? We’ve been out here for hours. Can you just give up on this personal time inference thing already?” 

“Personal time difference. And it’s been 45 minutes tops,” counters Kuroo, jogging to retrieve the ball. 

“That’s 45 minutes too many in my opinion.” 

“One more time,” Kuroo coaxes. “Then we can go in and I’ll even let you choose what to watch on TV.” 

Kenma eyes him suspiciously. “Promise?” 

Kuroo winks and passes the ball to Kenma in a high arc. Kenma sighs, but obligingly raises his hands to set. 

“God damn it!” Kuroo awkwardly swings at the ball. But the timing is off, and he knocks it so low it grazes the top of the net. Chewing on his bottom lip, Kuroo scowls. That would get blocked no problem in a real match. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. It looked so easy on TV last night. His shoulders slump in defeat. “Okay, Kenma,” he surrenders, turning around, “let’s go—Kenma?” 

Kenma ignores his friend and continues his leisurely stroll towards the ball. He sighs and bends to scoop it up. At Kuroo’s stunned expression, Kenma simply says, “You’ll be distracted if we stop now and fidget and be annoying to watch TV with.” 

Kuroo grins like the cheshire cat.

* * *

**5.**

“Idiot,” chides Kenma softly, shaking his head. “We’re not in elementary school anymore.” 

“I know, I know,” groans Kuroo, mournfully watching Kenma unwrap his lunch bento. “I was just running late this morning and rushing to meet you. I must’ve left my lunch on the kitchen counter.” His stomach grumbles unsympathetically. “I wonder if Kotaro will lend me some money.” He scrunches up his nose at that. “Darn, I hate school food. I can’t wait until we get into high school. I hear the cafeteria food is loads better.” 

Kenma carefully lifts the lid off, mutters, “Itadakimasu,” and grabs his chopsticks to delicately pick up a clump of rice. He pops it in his mouth, chews, then offers his chopsticks to Kuroo, who blinks with owl-wide eyes. 

Kenma might eat like a bird and take ages to finish his food, but he’s fiercely protective of it. Kuroo swears he once heard Kenma hiss at someone who came too close. So he stares slack-jawed and uncomprehending at Kenma’s proffered chopsticks. “I—are you sure? I can wait until I get home to eat.” 

“If you take any longer, I’m rescinding my offer.” 

“Who are you and what have you done with Kozume Kenma?” teases Kuroo as he reaches for the chopsticks. 

Kenma huffs in annoyance, though he can’t quite manage any real heat when he retorts, “I’m already regretting my decision.” 

Kuroo smirks around his mouthful of chicken. “You love me.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Kenma grumbles, making grabby hands for the chopsticks back. 

* * *

**+1.**

_Bam_ ! 

The door to Kenma’s bedroom flies open, startling Kenma so badly he nearly drops his DS. A spiky-haired boy stands there with a volleyball tucked under his arm. “Hi, my name is Kuroo Testurou. I live across the street. What’s your name?” 

“Kozume… Kozume Kenma.” 


End file.
